Best Housemate in the World (but don't tell him!)

I must have the best housemate in the world (but don't tell him or he'll get a big head).
Last Friday, my luggage failed to appear when I got to London City Airport (still only took me 20 minutes to get from the plane, through immigration, wait for all the luggage to come through to determine that mine wasn't there, lodge a report with the baggage people to emerge out into the street - what an airport!).
This created quite a problem for me as I was due to visit Harry & Jenny in High Wycombe for the weekend. I waited for a phonecall all evening (played some terrible badminton in between) to no avail and called them in the morning to find out what was going on. An hour later, they called back to say that it had been delivered through to the airport.
Dilemma: wait for an indeterminate amount of time for luggage to do my laundry for the next trip on Monday morning or go visit friends.
Solution: ask Taffy to do my laundry for me when the luggage arrived.
The luggage hadn't arrived by the time he left the house for the day so he had to battle through an idiot concierge to get it ('Has there been any luggage delivered?' 'No, haven't seen anything.' 'Well, it was supposed to have been delivered today.' 'No, nothing.' 'Was anything delivered this morning?' 'Oh, I don't know, I just got here. You can go look in the back.' And there it was...).
Once collected, he had to struggle through the smokey stench that had been smouldering in my clothes for 1 1/2 days since our team decided to go to a pub for hours on end on Thursday night.
When I arrived home on Sunday afternoon (having spent a lovely weekend in Henley on the Thames (where the regatta is held), passing through Reading to Marlow (where Jenny works), and then dinner & lazy breakfast in High Wycombe), my laundry had all been done and some of it had already been folded. What a legend!